La Vie en Rose
by Lizzosaurus
Summary: England and France get into a scuffle after weeks in close quarters in a rain-soaked camp. Historical WWII. Slight AU.


Disclaimer... this is really, _really_ short. XD

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><p>"Can someone please<em> shut<em> the Frenchman_ up_?"

I looked up from my worn, stained copy of the _Pickwick Papers_ and yelled above the ungodly sound of an badly tuned accordion.

As if in response, Francis waltzed into the center of the camp, sloshing aimlessly through the mud. I rolled my eyes. The French Resistance member had been hanging around our quarters for nearly a week, causing a series of rather unfortunate events. Such as the pages of _Great Expectations_ being rolled and smoked.

A creature whose outward appearance was the only evidence of the harsh times he had endured, arms and legs far too wiry and thin, even for a man of his height. Threadbare clothing clung to his skin and his golden hair was plastered to his face in dark ringlets. An ever-present smirk lilted against his features.

"Oi, frog, are you immune to rainwater?" I said, casually grazing Francis's pathetic frame with narrowed eyes.

"_C'est la vie_. I choose to take it as it comes, roast beef." The swift retort was customary and well expected.

Then he resumed forcing quivering notes out of the poor excuse of an accordion. Each chord grated on my raw nerves as I struggled to force my eyes back onto the pages of my book.

"_Quand il me prend dans ses bras_  
><em>Il me parle tout bas,<em>  
><em>Je vois la vie en rose<em>..."

I merely raised a brow at the sound of Francis.

Francis, who had decided to sing.

_Ignore and he'll wear himself out. Surely this can't be any worse than Alfred_. I muttered inwardly, gritting my teeth.

"_Il me dit des mots d'amour,_  
><em>Des mots de tous les jours,<em>  
><em>Et ca me fait quelque chose<em>."

Deadly emerald eyes ripped themselves away from the book, scouring the camp for any variety of sharp objects to lobber in his general direction. Anything to halt the lyrics that were growing louder and louder by the second. As he sidled closer, I felt my fingers curling around an empty, abandoned can of sardines.

"Get away." I hissed.

"_Il est entre dans mon coeur_  
><em>Une part de bonheur<em>  
><em>Don't je connais la cause<em>."

I haven't any idea how one can manage to adequately play a broken accordion while sweeping a full-grown man into a drunken waltz, but Francis did exactly that. The belt of the horrid instrument pressed painfully against my torso as I struggled vehemently to wrench myself free.

"Gerroff!"

"_Non_!" He laughed, swatting the sardine can out of my slackening hand before I could do so much as think to use it. My only hope of refuse clattered several metres away, well out of reachable distance.

"_C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui_  
><em>Dans la vie,<em>  
><em>Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie<em>."

"-You sound like the amphibious creature for which you are properly named."

"_Et des que je l'apercois_  
><em>Alors je sens en moi<em>  
><em>Mon coeur qui bat<em>."

"-I think I rather listen to America's version. Louis Armstrong, isn't it?"

"_Des nuits d'amour a ne plus en finir_-ooph!" I smiled triumphantly as Francis released me and promptly dropped to the ground with a harsh wheeze.

"That was a dirty move, l'Angleterre."

"_C'est la vie_." I smirked.

He shook a tapered finger at me as he slowly rose to his feet, like some old chiding father. Standing straight, Francis made a futile effort to wipe the mud off of his trousers, smearing it across the dull fabric instead. With a disappointed grunt, he stared at his filthy hands before grinning mischievously. Before I had the chance to shift myself out of range, I found a dark brown handprint blemishing my rather clean uniform.

"Oh bollocks, poppet. You got your shirt dirtied." Francis exclaimed in an awful English accent.

And thus began the daily mudslinging and insults that supplemented our average evening.

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><p>I was too lazy to put the full effort into this short little story, so lets call it a microfic and leave it at that.<p> 


End file.
